Cold Mud, Cookie Run

Delaware Canal South of New Hope, PA

3 February 2018

Mid-week Tom put out the call for a towpath ride. I was hesitant at first; although I was no longer limping I had come in low on the revolutions per minute in Tuesday's spin class.  I did a little better on Thursday. On Friday my trainer had me doing dead lifts and I told Tom I'd be there. It was even looking as if Plain Jim would finally, after too long with bronchitis, be joining us, but he canceled at the last minute. He had to buy a car or build a computer or something.

Ken messaged me while I was eating breakfast. I told him where we were going and when to be there. He wasn't at the Washington Crossing parking lot when I got there. He'd texted Pete, too, and Pete was sure that there was no way Ken was going to be able to ride from his house in time. So, along with Chris and Ricky, we started across the bridge to New Hope, figuring that Ken would be able to catch up with us walking slowly.

The sun didn't do much to warm us up. The air was well below freezing, and there was a stiff breeze out of the northwest.

"All hail the zoom lens!" I said as we reached the Pennsylvania side. The walkway is on the south side of the bridge but the scenery was north. 

Tom agreed.

He'd used his zoom to take pictures of Wedsnesday's lunar eclipse.

What little ice there was we crunched over. I quickly found myself in the back of the pack, unable to reach a faster cadence comfortably and unwilling to risk reinjury trying. I used a photo op as an excuse to reset my legs.

No zoom in my legs but plenty in my lens.

The brief rest helped. Outside of New Hope we reconvened at a spillway.

In the iced-over canal under the bridge at Stockton were two boats with their best days behind them.

There was no apparent way around climbing a flight of cement steps to get to the Stockton bridge.

When we reached the New Jersey side, there was Ken, who had missed us by an undetermined amount of time, taken off up the New Jersey side of the towpath, bringing his A-game with him and asking everyone he passed if they'd seen us. He was mighty proud of his speed, and also mighty cold because he'd been standing there for fifteen minutes. During the wait he did take a picture that blows away anything I'd taken all day:

The walk across two bridges and the riding in between seemed to have taken hours. The trip back, with a more-or-less tailwind, seemed to take about twenty minutes. The path here, gray clay, was mushy. Those of us without fenders found ourselves bespeckled. My Camelbak caught most of it. The pack looked as if I had rolled it in pebbles.

Grover's underbelly was encased in the stuff, which was so frozen on that I couldn't knock it off with my hands. I left the bike on my back porch. Maybe tomorrow's temperatures would be warm enough for a good hosing down.

4 February 2018

We were out and didn't get home until well after Peter F's registration deadline for his Sunday ride. I emailed him, unsure if the rain would even hold off long enough to squeeze a ride in. I assumed not and set the alarm for getting enough sleep. Early in the morning Peter had written back, first saying the ride was off and then that it was on. By the time I got out of bed, stretched my calf, fed the cats, fed myself, and got Kermit ready I had fifteen minutes less than I thought I'd need to get to Etra for the ride. I got in the car anyway, unsure of how long it would actually take me on a Sunday morning. Too long, it turned out, and when I passed the Old Trenton Road entrance to Mercer County Park I turned in and headed for home.

I decided to do my own thing and work on my cadence and endurance. "I'm going out to Allentown to get cookies," I told Jack. We checked the weather. I'd have until about noon to ride dry. I left the house at 9:20 a.m.

The wind is usually at my back when I ride to Allentown. This time it was in my face all the way. My goal wasn't so much speed as it was keeping a steady pace and trying not to slow down or stop. Apart from red lights I only stopped to remove my balaclava, only to replace it a quarter mile later, and to take a handful of quick pictures of the sky over Reed Recreation Park in Allentown.

I noodled about so that I'd have 20 miles before stopping in at Stonebridge. There wasn't much interesting in the way of cookies but I bought a few anyway. While I was waiting to pay a fellow who was clearly an off-the-bike-today cyclist approached and asked how far I'd gone. I told him and added that I was trying to beat the rain. He said I was a die-hard. 

Going home was easier. I had the wind at my back.

After crossing Route 130 I was met with sleet. Sleet is better than rain to ride in, but lordy is it painful. The sleet turned to snow when I reached Mercer County Park. Much better, and I had a rare tailwind too. There was nothing coming out of the sky on the other side of the park and I made it home dry. 

The hose was dry too. I thumped Grover on the ground and half of the towpath plaster came free. I got the rest with my hands. I put both Grover and Kermit in the car. In the rain-soaked afternoon I drove them up to Hart's for a thorough drive train cleaning beyond anything I could accomplish at home.